


How Quiet a Blade Can Be.

by ermIdunno



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Day 24, Hurt/Comfort, Secret Injury, Stab Wound, Whump, Whumptober 2019, break out the streamers!!!, but omg guys for once I actually did the comfort in hurt/comfort, but seriously I love this show I hope you enjoy it, its a monumental day, stabbed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 00:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ermIdunno/pseuds/ermIdunno
Summary: It feels different than he imagined...being stabbed. Malcolm is wounded during a case and things take a drastic turn for the worse as the team try their best to save him.





	How Quiet a Blade Can Be.

**Author's Note:**

> I done did it Ya’ll! I FINALLY wrote a Prodigal Son fic…I don’t know why I kept putting it off, acting like my crazy a** wasn’t gonna dive head first into this fandom *Slaps on a scuba suit and some flippers, lowers goggles* Lets begin…

It struck him odd. How quiet a blade slipping between two ribs could be. Even with only a minor amount of skill, no practice was necessary. In and out. Nice and smooth. If you're in the right frame of mind.  _ Cool and calm.  _ A bit late adding that detail to the profile Malcolm muses behind the shock of it all. 

For an instant it terrifies him. How relieved he is. How calm the silence makes him. It must frighten the man holding the blade too. _Not the reaction you wanted? _That split second of surprise gives Malcolm the upper hand, for his years of drilling and training to kick in. Two swift hits plus a twist and the blade now rests in Malcolm's abnormally steady grip. _Cool and calm. _The tedious tremor that usually plagues him has vanished, made obsolete by the adrenaline that rushes to save his life.

Both men stand in tense uncertainty, muscles twitching in anticipation of the others eventual charge.  _ Drip. Drip.  _ Malcolm’s blood sinks to the floor. It’s small splatter the only echo heard within the decrepit hall, a sick reminder of each passing second.  _ Drip.  _ They stare at each other with matching intensity. Too shocked by the sudden sequence of events to decide on a next move. Their flicker of eyes caught between a dripping blade and the heave of a chest. Neither knows how to proceed.  _ Drip. Drip.  _ Each second is more important than the last. 

_ Drip. _

What follows is anything but quiet. If someone had been watching they’d say it happened too fast. The dim hallway turned into a blur of motion and muffled sounds, sliced through with the glint of a blade and a painful cry. Then just as suddenly the silence returns. The weight of it humming in Malcolm's ears. 

"Very smooth.” Malcolm hisses. “My father would be impressed."    
  
The man yelps in response. Too preoccupied by the blade that now sticks out of his own shoulder. Malcolm stands behind his former attacker now, holding tight against the mans chest and the hilt of the blade, the shoulders of his suit jacket are stretched tight. He faces the man outward, toward the entrance of the hall, and begins to inch forward.

“Move.” The profilers voice echoes down the corridor. “One slow step at a time.”   
  
The perp tries to make a run for it, misjudging the grip that Malcolm has on the knife. His lunge ends abruptly with a deeper wound and a nasty shriek, clearly not as accustomed to pain as Malcolm is.

"Ah uh uh. Not gonna happen.” Bright whispers. 

“Fuck you Asshole.” Spit flies through the air as the perp finally speaks.

Malcolm replies with a minute jiggle of the blade and an expected string of curses follow. Bright doesn’t hide his cheeky grin, the satisfaction pleases him. Finally he has the upper hand and his racing heart flutters in relief. 

The perps high pitched complaint is quickly drowned out by the sudden sound of gunshots. Three to be exact. The man flinches, still not making the connection between movement and pain.  _ Moronic. At least that assumption was right.  _ Malcolm stands steady, already guessing who the bullets belong to. 

Gil rounds the corner into the corridor, quickly checking blind spots for further danger while Dani follows close behind. Their eyes adjust to the dimly lit scene before stopping dead in their tracks. 

“Bright.” Gil says clearly, the usual mix of concern and relief evident in his tone. Dani raises her gun level with the strangers chest, while Gil’s own points toward the ground, not wanting Malcolm anywhere close to his line of sight. 

“Hi Gil!” Malcolm says excitedly. “Dani.” His voice deepens a little, trying to recover with a more manly bravado. “Is everyone alright?” 

Dani shakes her head in amused disbelief. Malcolm is left alone for five minutes and somehow trouble still finds him. She takes a deep breath and tries to exhale some of her worried tension. It helps enough. A small smile finds the edges of her lips, curling at the corners of her mouth. It’s Malcolm and he’s okay, and she is more relieved than she thought she would be.

Gil takes a few steps forward before he answers Malcolm's question, “We’ve got all of the hostages secure.”

Another cautious step closer, “What do you want me to do with yours?” The familiar eyebrow raise showing off his sense of humor. 

“Oh! Yes! The tables have  _ drastically  _ turned.” Malcolm answers. 

Dani’s grin vanishes. As if by practice she and Gil shoot Malcolm simultaneous glares so severe he’s actually relieved to have this attacker between them. 

“You okay?” Dani speaks up. Not sure when her protective instinct over this strange man in front of her came about, but pretty sure it started somewhere between a needle pointed at a forearm and a hot cup of earl grey. It doesn’t entirely surprise her.  _ This.  _ This is why she avoids getting too close. It’s entirely too stressful. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Malcolm reassures, “but I’d love to release him from our awkward embrace.” 

Gil rolls his eyes. “Hands up!” he demands, switching back into cop mode easily. Dani secures her weapon and frees a pair of cuffs from her waist. 

“That might be a bit painful for him.” Bright insists with a smile, looking towards the knife embedded into the man’s shoulder. Malcolm releases the hilt of the blade, bringing his arms down and away slowly. Dani takes her cue, swiftly cuffing the perpetrator before Malcolm even has time to step away. 

It’s when Malcolm steps back, slipping slightly in something wet, that the details of the situation come creeping back into focus. The high of it all begins to fade away and his smile disappears. Traded in for a sinking discomfort as he watches Dani and Gil lead the disgruntled attacker away by each arm. 

The telltale tremble returns. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears. A sign that the previous calm has all but transformed into something much worse. Dani and Gil are almost out of sight when Gil shouts over his shoulder,

“Bright, do me a favor and get checked out by the paramedics.”

Malcolm nods back to him. 

“Now.” Gil repeats before they’re gone completely. 

_ It was so quiet,  _ Malcolm thinks again. Almost like it didn't happen. His stomach rolls. His hands search for support, red finger tips smearing across the walls of chipped paint when the sudden silence returns in a strange way. The chaos beyond the hall fades. The familiar tune of a unit busy with work morphs into a deep unidentifiable muffle. White dots spark like fireworks on the edge of his vision.  _ Drip. Drip.  _ Malcolm tries to retain some grace, but his knees give out before he can manage, knocking over a stray beam as he stumbles. 

He just needs to catch his breath. 

…...

JT finds the team. A little late, but hey no one is perfect. Dani and Gil have the last suspect already cuffed and with a knife sticking out of his shoulder? 

“Ah! There he is” Dani quips with a friendly smirk.    
  
Gil pats JT on the shoulder with his free arm as they pass by, “Good lead JT. Never thought you and Bright would agree on anything.” 

They're busy with the hand off, talking to two officers before JT can even say thank you, but Gil has always translated JT's sly smiles better than most. A mutual understanding built on time and respect rather than words. 

JT turns to help when he hears a metallic clang in the distance. It’s sharp clatter bouncing through the darkness of a long corridor. JT weaves his way through the easing pandemonium to check it out, nodding at a friendly colleague along the way. He walks briskly, eyes and ears alert for anything unusual. He can see a dark shape moving as he gets closer. Hear a sharp gasp as the noise behind him fades with each step. His heartbeat pounds in his chest. He raises his gun. Every shadow looks like a threat until his eyes are finally adjusted. It’s only then that JT realizes he knows that black blur and takes off at a sprint. 

…...

Malcolm feels the warmth of hands before slamming into the cold floor. They appear suddenly, startling him for a fleeting second before he realizes they are helping him and not hurting him. They’re strong and support the bulk of his weight as he slides down the rough wall. He tries to say thank you but can only manage a gasps from the pain, a harsh and sticky inhale that doesn’t help much. 

"Is this another pavor noc...pav..nocturn...” JT stutters, “sleep thing...whatever."  _ Oh it’s JT. _ He sounds nervous. 

Malcolm tries to respond but it’s taking him a second to decipher what the faint echoes of JT’s words once were. 

A groan through clenched teeth. Not quite an answer but getting close.

JT pats the side of Malcolm’s face, gives his chin a little shake, "Focus for me man, tell me whats wrong." 

"No.” Another harsh breath. “That's when your asleep." Malcolm responds with a delirious, albeit amused smile. 

_ " _ Well you're almost there man." 

JT takes in his surroundings. Creepy disgusting hall.  _ Check.  _ Weird partner acting weird.  _ Check.  _ Signs of something more?  _ Hard to tell.  _ He tries to remember what constitutes a panic attack. Can’t figure out if this entire situation counts as one big sign. Malcolm is pale. Well, curiously pale compared to his usual paleness. He’s fidgety,  _ that’s normal,  _ but something’s different. Something smells sharp like metal. 

Malcolm stares up at JT. A thousand thoughts running through his mind. He tries to explain to JT that he forgot,  _ it was so quiet, so quick,  _ that he always imagined it would be louder, hurt more, would be more dramatic. In his nightmares the knife always struck with a bang. A symphony of sound and colour exploding from the wound, a twisting array of blood and screams. The blood never ended and the wailing never stopped. The cries would start out as his own but then transform into the sobs of countless others. Faceless victims. Stab after stab his father would smile,  _ my boy.  _ The words perverted, made sicker with each repetition.  _ My boy.  _ Over and over again. But Malcolm could never die. Could never escape until he woke up covered in sweat and in a fog. Stuck in his own mind for hours. Lying awake in the dark. Thinking of all the wasted years that have gone by, a life fueled by guilt and doubt, worries and fears left fermenting like some rotten corpse in an unmarked grave.  _ Twenty-three. _ Martin always smiled. Twenty-three he proudly claims, but why can’t anyone see that it’s really twenty-four?

All this, Malcolm knows it’s too much. Knows it’s not necessary, that it’s just the blood loss making him  _ sentimental.  _ Besides, he can’t breathe anymore. Can’t get enough air in his lungs to form the necessary words. Can only release a hiss from his lips, a last painful exhale.  _ No, no, he can do this _ . His limbs are so heavy, but he manages a convincing fumble of his suit jacket and beautifully, thankfully he can see that JT get’s the picture before darkness closes in and his eyes flutter completely closed.

…….

The dots connect.

"I need a medic!" JT screams. No time to waste. In the darkness of the derelict hall, it looked like Malcolm was leaning in a stagnant rain puddle, but JT sees now that his initial assumption was painfully wrong. Realizes too late why he smelled stale metal. 

He opens - no - peels back Malcolm's dark suit jacket to see the blood that hides beneath it. It’s colour so deep it’s almost indistinguishable from the black vest he wears.  _ This is why we don’t wear suits. _

"Dude what happened to you?" JT fumbles while unzipping his grey sweatshirt. 

"Gil and Dani were just here." He whines, but Malcolm’s eyes remains closed. JT crumples up his shirt and presses it firmly into Malcolm's ribs. 

No response. Not even a moan.  _ That’s probably not good. _

As if summoned by the mere mention of their names, Gil and Dani come crashing into JT's side. They're a blur of waving hands and questions, unsure how to help. Malcolm's balance shifts from the commotion, head falling to the floor. 

Dani is quick to catch his torso, awkwardly repositioning him from her crouched angle. 

"JT. What the hell happened?" Gil barks. Fear evident in every syllable.

Dani lays Malcolm flat, "Is this all of his blood?" She says to no one in particular, her hands are smeared with the red stuff and she can’t help but stare at her twitching fingers in shock. JT hovers above Malcolm's chest now, making use of gravity and locked elbows to stem the flow of blood. 

"Medic! We need a medic!" Gil shouts breathlessly as he looks at the entrance of the corridor. 

“JT what happened!?” Gil pleads again. 

Their leader has seen it all. He’s been a cop longer than most, especially these days when everyone seems to be getting younger and younger, but no one looks as young as Malcolm does right now. It makes Gil sick seeing Malcolm lying so limp and quiet, so still and calm that he almost looks peaceful.  _ It’s wrong.  _ Malcolm never finds peace in his sleep, even when he was a kid he slept with a constant furrow in his brow. Gil always tried to smooth it out in the beginning, but it never worked for long. 

"I don't know Gil” JT finally answers. His response snaps Gil out of his distant thoughts. His legs bounce with indecision, his mind torn between staying with Malcolm or bolting to get help. 

JT shakes his head in disbelief, “I found him this way. Thought he was having another one of those panic att...."

Dani hold’s Malcom's head between her hands. Her thumbs rubbing small comforting circles into the hollow of his cheeks when she sees it.

"He's...guys.” Dani interrupts, “GUYS! He's not breathing." Her hands have smeared crimson across his pale skin. 

"Fuck. Bright!" Dani chokes out as she gently pats the side of Malcolm's face. 

“Why isn’t he breathing?” She looks to Gil now directly, “We were just with him!”. 

"Bright!" she pleads once more. Emotion hangs heavy on her voice. JT pretends not to notice, stuck between his own urge to curse or slam a fist into the peeling walls. 

That’s it. Gil snaps into action, “Dani go get the medics!”. She’s up and out of the hall before Gil can even administer his first chest compression. JT shifts out of the way, he accidentally knocks the stray beam further down the hall as he stands. He begins to pace, clasping his hands behind his back in an attempt to avoid punching anything. 

Gil tilts Malcolm's chin up, readjusting before he delivers the second round of breaths. 

“One. Two. Three…” Gil counts aloud with each push. Malcolm’s chest bends below the pressure of Gil’s fists, he hears a sick crack. This moment feels like a cruel joke, time slowed so eternity can be shoved and squished small enough to fit into the confines of the hall, bursting at the seams. “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine”. He gives one breath, then two.

Nothing. He repeats the cycle again. 

“God Kid don’t do this to me!” Gil begs, shouts. His words come out muffled and broken between each shove. He know’s JT is watching, but he’s oblivious to how he might look at that moment. Desperate and scared. It’s a side of Gil JT has never witnessed before and it only solidifies how dreadful he really feels. 

_ Nine, ten, eleven…. _

Gil’s mind flickers with images, a life of memories flashing behind his eyes. The green candy he gave Malcolm when they met and always asked for afterward. The way he felt when he heard Malcolm’s first laugh after months of silence. The way Jackie looked at Malcolm when he would tell a story, like she truly listened, like he was the most amazing kid in the world. He made her so happy. It’s tearing Gil’s heart out. This can’t be happening. Gil was meant to keep Bright safe, keep Bright alive. He owed him that much at least and now Gil was failing him. 

_ Twelve, thirteen…. _

“Breath Kid.” Push. Push. “You're so strong.” His voice waivers. 

_ Sixteen… _ .

Gil has reached his limit, his cool facade crumbling little by little with each count. 

“Seventeen, eighte...” A sob bursts from his lips, surprising not only himself but JT who stands in front of him. 

Gil looks down at his hands in defeat, a deep breath fleeing his lungs as he watches a stray tear roll off his knuckles and onto Malcolm's chest. He’s too tired to continue and it destroys him. He always thought Jackie's death would be the lowest point of his life, the rocky bottom, but this feeling is worse. He let Malcolm down. He let his wife down. 

Gil slowly looks up at JT, shaking his head in an unspoken,  _ “No.”  _ A wordless,  _ “This is not right. This is not fair.”  _

JT falls to his knees and rests a hand on Gil's shoulder, “Let me take over.” 

Gil concedes, nodding as he moves out of the way. He sucks in a sharp breath, pursing his lips in an attempt to gain back some form of control. 

JT continues with firm pressure, “Nineteen, twenty….” 

This is all wrong JT thinks with each push. He had no idea how close Malcolm and Gil were. No clue that Gil could ever look so broken. JT has only known the cocky profiler below is hands for a few months now, but if Gil cares about him that deeply...then behind all the strangeness Malcolm must be a truly good man and good men aren't meant to die in a puddle of their own blood. 

Gil doesn’t move. He sits there next to Malcolm on the hard ground. Watching as Brights limp body is jostled by each thrust. The smell of blood, the peeling paint on the walls, the sound of JT’s tired breaths, even the climbing count of numbers...It all fades away. It all narrows down to one solitary thing. One person. 

Gil begins a silent apology and lifts a heavy arm to rest his fingers in Malcolm’s thick hair and cups his neck like he’s done a hundred times before, moving only to smooth out the furrow of Malcolm’s brow.

_ Wait. _

“Malcolm!” Gil shouts, lunging forward onto his knees. 

“Stop. Stop!” He demands of JT.

JT throws up his hands in surprise, watching as Gil leans forward to put his ear next to Malcolm's lips. Gil holds his own breath until he can feel Malcolm's against his skin. __  
_  
___There it is.

A breath. 

And then another and another. They’re faint, Malcolm's exhales sound painful and escape more as frail wheezes, but they’re there. 

Gil and JT stare in shocked relief as they watch the rise and fall of Malcolm's chest. 

“Oh my god.” JT finally blurts out. Running a hand over his pinched face. 

“Oh my god.” He says again, but with more disgust as he realizes the amount of blood he has just smeared across it. 

Gil chuckles, a short burst of beautiful relief. He takes off his own jacket now to press against Malcolm's wound. Slow and cautious of every movement he makes. 

The sound of heavy footsteps and squeaking wheels slice through the intimate scene. JT moves away as quickly as possible. Wincing at his sore knees and shaking legs, just as a paramedic’s slide into position. 

They instantly begin their work, ripping open Malcolm’s vest and shirt to check his wound. Gil stumbles back, shocked by the vivid contrast of so much red on such white skin. Dani is there to brace him. Wrapping an arm around his back, before Gil looks over to her. 

“He’s breathing again.” He tells her with a dazed smile. 

…….

Dani’s always hated hospitals. Hated the lighting, the smell, the things it made her remember. JT doesn’t seem too fond of it either. She watches as he leans forward, elbows perched on bouncing knees, impatiently twirling his wedding ring. 

Gil just left to get coffee from the machine...for the fourth time... she knows he hates hospitals even more. For good reason. 

Jessica and Ainsley look different than Dani imagined. They sit across from her and JT in opposite, but equally uncomfortable chairs. More composed than she thought as well.  _ I guess that’s what having a serial killer for a father will do. _ Probably takes a lot for you to be shocked she considers in the silence of the stuffy room. 

“He’ll never stop will he?” 

Dani looks up, surprised by the sudden question. She looks around as if it wasn’t directed at her, but Jessica Whitly never needs to repeat her questions. 

“Ah uh no.” Dani straightens up in her seat. “No I don’t think he will.” She pauses, but adds, “I don’t think he can.”

Jessica sighs and leans back into her chair. Unsatisfied with the answer. 

She looks off toward the ER doors as she speaks again, “I think I need to accept that.”

Ainsley looks toward Dani and smiles, friendly, but tired and rests a hand atop her mother's knee. Jessica lightly taps it before looking toward the doors again. 

Gil returns with his five cups of coffee expertly balanced. Ignoring the fact that no one has finished their last cup. 

“Alright. Here we go.” Gil sets the steaming cups down, “Any news?” 

Like magic a Doctor pushes open the ER doors, releasing a high pitched whine as they swing wide. The Doctor pulls down her mask to reveal a surprisingly young face. 

“Malcolm Bright” she exclaims.

“Yes.” Almost everyone says in unison as the group collectively stands up. 

The tension is visible. Hours of no news will do that to people. Though young, the Doctor can read a room and cuts straight to the point.

“Well, everyone.” She clears her throat. “I’m not going to sugar coat it. It was pretty touch and go for a while. I’m sorry we had to keep you waiting for so long.” 

Gil shifts his weight between his two feet. Unable to find a comfortable position.

“But…” She continues, “Malcolm is very strong and we were able to get the bleeding under control and repair his punctured lung.” 

A sigh seeps across the room. Shoulders relax and small smiles appear. 

“Though, let me be honest.” This seems harder for her to say, “His heart went into ventricular fibrillation.” 

Everyone except Gil looks on with a puzzled expression. Gil’s hands raise to his hips, resting there while he looks down toward the ground. Jessica notices his contained reaction and steps forward. 

“Put simply,” The woman continues, “this means his heart had a seizure and was unable to function properly. Therefore, we were forced to defibrillate.” 

Jessica blinks in confusion, a familiar furrowed brow appears. 

“What. What does that mean? Is he going to be alright?” Jessica asks. Her wavering voice betraying her composed exterior. 

“It means that Malcolm was very very close and he is a very very lucky man.” The Doctor solemnly explains. 

Dani looks away from the group, taking a moment to breathe and blink back useless tears.  _ God damn lack of sleep.  _

She watches as the Doctor takes a deep breath of her own and continues, “I know this is hard to hear but it’s the truth and as such it should be heard.” 

The hum of an AC unit clicking into gear breaks the silence. It’s gust blows stray hairs across Ainsley face as she speaks up, “Thank you Doctor. We appreciate that. When can we see him?” 

“You are more than welcome to see him now, but please limit it to two people at a time. There is a lot of equipment in his room and given his history we would not want Malcolm more overwhelmed than necessary if he wakes up.” 

_ Fair enough.  _ Dani thinks. She watches Jessica nod in appreciation, glancing back at Gil with an indecipherable look before stepping forward with Ainsley.

…….

“Did you know that back in the 1700’s people used to think that throwing someone suffering from apnea onto a trotting horse or dunking them in freezing water would help.” 

Malcolm happily explains these facts as he attacks a pudding cup with unusual appetite.

“Or! My personal favorite, blowing tobacco smoke into the rectum!” 

Gil rolls his eyes, but happily listens as Malcolm continues, “but at least the tobacco smoke is based somewhat in fact as the smoke from tobacco contains epinephrine, a solution that crash carts still carry today.” 

Malcolm scrapes the last bit of pudding from its plastic confines and looks up to Gil with a smile. 

“That’s good to see.” Gil observes.

“What? I’m not showing off my rectum am I?.” Malcolm retorts. 

“No Kid!” Gil Laughs, “Your smile.” 

“Oh.” Malcolm realizes. He looks down at his empty pudding cup before continuing. 

“I think I should apologize.” Bright releases a big sigh, flinching from the effort of it. 

“I’m sorry for everything that happened. It was just so sudden, took me by...” 

Gil stands up, interrupting Malcolm's unnecessary admission. 

“No Bright.” he steps forward, closing the space between the lounge chair in the corner and the hospital bed. 

“No. That’s not necessary. That’s not what I..what anyone wants to hear.” 

Gil places a firm hand atop of Malcolm's own, oblivious to the spoon which smears leftover pudding across it. 

“Don’t ever be sorry for doing your job.” he adds with particular vigor. 

Malcolm nods with a closed mouth smile, his bright eyes glint in the light streaming in from the hospital window. His mother would never allow him to recover without a decent view of the city. 

There is a knock at the door and Gil gives Malcolm's cheek a quick pat before returning to his chair. Malcolm appreciates the comforting and familiar gesture. 

Dani and JT trail through the door. Steaming cups in tow.  _ Thank god it’s the good stuff. _

JT hands over Gil’s first, “Americano for you” and Dani crosses the room to sit on the edge of Malcolm's bed before speaking, “and a cup of earl grey for you.”

She grins while handing it over, “because you like the smell.” She adds with a wink.

Malcolm smiles. Regardless of the pain and the circumstances that got him here he is thankful to have these people in his life. To have family, to have friends.  _ Maybe it won’t be such a waste after all.  _ He ponders this idea and many others while taking a sip of his tea, eyes lingering on Dani’s lips as she takes a sip of her own. 

JT interrupts his pleasant train of thought, “Is that pudding on your face?” 

……..

THE END. 

**Author's Note:**

> DID SHE WRITE COMFORT??? That’s right bitches. I have actually for once written the comfort….IN hurt/comfort. 
> 
> I really really hope you liked this. I put WAY too much time into it, but I'm very happy with how it turned out and I hope you are too my fellow Prodigies. 
> 
> Also…Grammar…what is this thing called grammar. I did not have anyone beta. I just read it over and over again hoping for the best. So sorry if it’s at all distracting! Anyway. I really enjoyed writing this, I hope ya’ll enjoyed reading it. Like always: Whump. Whump and MORE Whump. It’s never enough. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I Love to hear it <3


End file.
